Return to the Baseball Club (2)
“Hoo...”
I drew a long, deep breath.
The place I’d arrived at was the coach’s office.
Probably.
This might be my first real assignment as a member of the baseball club. If I worked hard, opportunities would come—but those opportunities still belonged entirely to the man who held the final say: the coach. Facing him was no small matter.
I hesitated for a beat, then opened the door.
Rattle.
“You called for me, sir?”
I announced myself the moment the door swung open and strode forward.
“...”
No one else was in the room besides Coach Maeda. I stopped at a respectful distance and looked down at him.
“It’s been a while.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why the sudden return?”
“...”
There was a subtle barb in the coach’s tone. Solid build, short sportsman’s haircut, and a face with strong, heavy lines—he cut an imposing figure for a middle-aged man.
I spoke to the seated coach.
“I want to play baseball again.”
“Baseball?”
“Yes, sir.”
I’d more or less expected this. A guy who hadn’t shown his face at the club for half a year suddenly barging back into practice—of course they’d ask why. Japanese high school baseball clubs don’t have any law that says you must attend every practice or give it your all. Whether you quit or keep showing up and grinding is entirely up to the player.
Of course, almost every member works hard. Especially at a school like Seisho, ranked among the absolute top tier for Koshien contention—you don’t come here without staking everything you have. And I hadn’t been pushed out by lack of talent or sidelined by injury. I’d simply vanished without a word. I owed a proper explanation.
The answer I’d settled on was simple: I want to play baseball. It was true for the me who’d lived in Korea, and it was true for the me living as Hongo Yukihisa.
“Baseball isn’t something you can just go all-out on when you feel like it and half-ass when you don’t, you know.”
“I know, sir.”
“Hmm.”
The coach suddenly fixed me with a hard stare.
Yeah, it must look weird.
Unless he was a complete cold-blooded bastard who paid zero attention to his players, there was no way he didn’t know about the mess I’d been during my wandering period. For me to show up out of nowhere and say I wanted to play again, and for him to just nod and say “got it”—that only happened in manga.
“You know summer prelims aren’t far off, right?”
“I know, sir.”
“That so?”
“...”
I had nothing more to say. Asking for a shot on the mound right here would have been ridiculous, and I still hadn’t fully grasped the state of this body myself.
“Get out.”
“Sir?”
“You didn’t hear me?”
“Ah—no, sir.”
Huh?
Against my expectations, the coach simply told me to leave without much further comment.
“Go find Date. He’ll work with you.”
“Date-senpai?”
“Got a problem with that?”
“No, sir...”
Still as prickly as ever. Not that it mattered—he wasn’t the type to make extra trouble for people.
Thump-thump.
“...”
In one of the bullpens at Seisho’s impressively equipped practice grounds, third-year catcher Date Yoshinori popped his mitt and loosened up.
(Pair up with Hongo once.)
That was what Coach Maeda had told him. After seeing second-year Hongo Yukihisa return today, the coach had ordered Date to keep an eye on him.
With the crucial summer Koshien prelims approaching, the pitchers expected to see game action were three:
Third-year right-hander Maejima Genta.
Third-year right-hander Nakayama Junichi.
Second-year left-hander Enatsu Akira.
All three were handled exclusively by the immovable starting catcher and cleanup hitter, Matsuda Masahiro. Backup catcher Date’s role was simply to sit on the bench just in case. The new assignment he’d been given this time was to take charge of Hongo Yukihisa.
Rattle.
“Date-senpai.”
“Oh, Hongo.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Yeah.”
Date returned the greeting of the person of interest, Hongo Yukihisa.
Still...
Date thought. His junior by a year, the Hongo everyone had once watched so closely, had stopped coming to practice long ago and had apparently gone pretty far off the rails. But looking at him now that he’d returned, his physical condition didn’t seem to have deteriorated much. Clean hair, clear eyes—none of the things Date had worried about were showing.
“Warm up first, then we’ll hit the bullpen.”
“Got it.”
“...”
After finishing, Date snuck a glance at Hongo. The second-year junior was already rotating his shoulders, fully focused on loosening up.
Something’s a little...
This obedient version of Hongo felt unfamiliar. The Hongo Yukihisa Date knew hadn’t been the type to disrespect seniors, but there had always been a slight edge of cockiness to him. The one in front of him now was different. He wasn’t doing anything flashy, yet somehow he seemed like a different person—emotionally steadier, maybe?
“Want me to keep going?”
“Nah, I’m ready too. You’re looking pretty fired up, Hongo.”
“It’s been a while since I came back.”
“True.”
Was he fretting about it?
Hongo had returned out of nowhere and acted like nothing had happened. That atmosphere had kept the other members from saying much to him. Date had wondered if the guy simply didn’t care—but apparently he did.
“Don’t worry. With your talent you’ll be sharp again in no time. Body looks pretty good too.”
“Still not enough.”
Hongo slipped on his glove, gave his shoulder one last roll, and finished his prep.
Pop! Pop!
“Nice! Nice! Let’s go!”
The catcher, ready to receive the pitcher’s throws, smacked his mitt and called out. Unlike the skilled but strict Matsuda, Date had an easygoing personality and was popular with the underclassmen.
“...”
Still huge, huh.
Hongo, standing well over 190 cm. No matter how many times you looked, that physique alone was something else. Hoping the ball would still be just as good, Date watched Hongo throw.
Thwaaack—!
“Whoa?”
“...”
I finished my first pitch in this body. Memories of my original delivery and Hongo Yukihisa’s delivery were tangled together, so I’d needed some shadow pitching with a towel just to get a feel for it. Then came the first real ball.
Incredible.
It wasn’t just a memory—actually throwing the ball made it clear how absurd this was. Flexibility on a completely different level from my old body. The shoulder, of course, but the lower half was ridiculous too. Even when I lengthened my stride, nothing felt awkward. And this was without even tapping the body’s full potential.
Then the sensation in my fingers. I could load the power in my body properly and transfer it straight into the ball.
Man...
In my previous life I’d thrashed around trying to overcome a lack of talent. I’d changed my mechanics constantly and tried every pitch I could think of. Feeling this blessed body now, that struggle suddenly looked like the flailing of an ordinary man. If I’d had a body like this from the start, I never would have wrecked myself by forcing pitches.
“That was insane!”
“Huh?”
While I was lost in thought, Date-senpai spoke up in surprise.
“That one felt like it cracked 150, didn’t it? Were you doing private training instead of showing up to practice?”
“Ah...”
Straight-up praise. For a second I weighed my reputation against honesty.
“I was thinking about coming back, so I checked over my mechanics once.”
“I see!”
I settled somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t a complete lie, after all.
“From a catcher’s perspective, that delivery was completely quiet and perfect.”
“Really?”
Date-senpai grinned. I nodded along.
Probably not, though.
He was being nice about it, so I wasn’t about to argue.
Yes-man? Or...
This body wasn’t finished yet, and the delivery wasn’t ideal either. “Perfect” was a stretch. Was a school aiming for the top of Japan just handing out empty compliments? Or did senpai and I simply have completely different ideas of what “perfect” meant?
No.
Getting ahead of myself wasn’t helpful. Finish myself first, then worry about other people.
“I want to check the velocity.”
“Same here.”
“Hang on a sec.”
I planned to throw about twenty or thirty today. Being able to confirm the speed would be even better.
“Ready!”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
After a short wait, manager Nagasawa Haruka arrived carrying a radar gun. She looked a little nervous, but her voice still came out firm. Morning practice before classes—she had to be sleepy—yet even the managers at a top-tier baseball club were different, apparently.
“...”
I threw a little harder.
Thwaaaack—!
“Hahaha.”
“...Huh?”
I glanced toward Nagasawa. It was childish, but velocity definitely still mattered to me.
“What was it?”
“147!”
“Felt stronger than 147, though?”
“...”
That’s fine for now.
Being able to throw a fastball around 147 km/h in this current physical state was excellent. I still needed to adapt, and this Yukihisa guy had actually regressed a bit rather than improved—so there was plenty of room to grow. If anything, I should thank him for not letting himself go soft even while wasting his life chasing popularity with girls.
“The stuff feels better than the last time I caught you. Like a rock.”
“That so?”
I answered the senpai’s praise evenly. He was the type who preferred to lift a pitcher’s spirits, so there was no need to get carried away.
“Amazing, Hongo-kun! Coming back after so long and still throwing that hard.”
“Thanks.”
The manager too, of course. She really did seem like a kind person.
“Alright, again!”
“Yes!”
I answered with a bit of spirit. They were treating a problem child who’d just returned after a long absence decently—the least I could do was match that energy.
Thwaack—!
“...”
A catcher wearing a look of admiration, a manager checking the radar gun, and me replaying the last delivery in my head. That was how my first bullpen session in this world continued.
“Thank you for your hard work!”
“Good work, everyone!”
Morning practice ended like that. As the third-years headed off first, the first- and second-years all had to call out.
“Hongo!”
“...Ah.”
One of the seniors approached me.
“Heard from Date—you hit 149 max?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
I answered with the plain truth.
“Not bad.”
Team captain and third-year shortstop Shirakawa Satoru grinned as he spoke. He was only a little over 170 cm, but with his speed, precise hitting, and outstanding defense he was rated one of the best shortstops in the prefecture. On top of that he was friendly and got along with everyone, and he set the example by working harder than anyone—so of course he’d become captain of this team.
“I heard you’ve been working hard as a pitcher this whole time?”
“Ah, hahaha.”
I scratched my head as I answered. Date-senpai was the kind of good guy who talked people up even behind their backs, and it seemed the story had gotten a little exaggerated.
“You’re probably tired, but hit the books hard. See you at practice after school.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Shirakawa-senpai waved and disappeared. I nodded.
Still...
This team’s pitching was still its weak point. If the original Hongo Yukihisa had been the kind of guy who worked harder than anyone, he would already have been the ace and the pillar by now. That had been one of the bits of narration in the manga, before I possessed this body.
But this was a twisted timeline. I’d braced myself for the club members to blame everything on me and for conflict to break out—yet that didn’t seem to be the case.
Of course.
As long as they didn’t steal time I could spend on baseball, I was grateful.
“Um, Hongo.”
“Yeah?”
I was heading toward the school building for class when Nagasawa called out to me.
“The practice game against Sonpu High next—you’re going to watch, right?”
“Huh?”
What was she talking about?
“Of course. I’m a baseball club member too.”
“Ah!”
The most obvious answer in the world. I replied without thinking much of it.
“Sorry! Of course Hongo-kun would go watch.”
“No need to apologize, but...”
A slightly exaggerated reaction. Was this just her personality?
Probably.
I’d been the guy who habitually skipped baseball practice, so maybe it had been on her mind. For now, it didn’t look like I’d be taking the mound in this weekend’s practice game. The regulars were more or less set, and I’d only just returned.
Of course.
I planned to make it impossible for them not to put me on the mound soon enough.